Stormy Surrender

For Sam, my Joey.

There’s no one in this world that I’d rather fight with, laugh with, live for, and love.

Thank you for my second chance, my amazing life, and making it possible for me to live my dream.

I’m yours forever.


Falling in love is like jumping off a really tall building; your head tells you 'idiot, you're gonna die,' but your heart tells you, ‘don't worry you can fly.

--Unknown

There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.

--Willa Cather



Chapter One

“I could never live here,” Suzette remarked as she surveyed the room. Throwing back the snowflake patterned flannel sheets, she slipped purposefully from the pencil post bed and began to dress in the clothes she had carefully hung over the back of the black parson’s chair.

Blaine nodded. “It’s just as well. Martha wouldn’t allow it.” He was serious. All the time. He stood in front of the upright mirror and adjusted his tie in an effort to create the appearance of order and harmony even as his life was bathed in chaos. He never intended to begin the affair. He had no plans to end it. He was quite content juggling them. And he was rather good at it. Martha was a creature of habit with a set schedule, as predictable as the weather in California. Suzette was his office manager. She was a gold digger. He knew that. He also knew that she was clever, calculating, and planned to keep him. For now, he didn’t care. Of course, it did make sense to weigh his options. “How do you feel about kids?” He asked, studying his reflection in the mirror. He ran a finger over his perfectly bleached teeth, tugged at the sides of his face, and practiced his smile.

From the bedroom, Suzette came into view. She was smoothing her burgundy silk shirt and checking for panty lines. “Are you serious?” She asked in disgust. “Do you have any idea how hard I work for this body?”

His smile was genuine now. At least he was guaranteed a child free existence if he let Suzette have her way. He leaned against the sink and studied her a minute.

Suzette glanced at her watch. “So, if we leave now,” she began, “you’ll have time to drop me off at the office before you have to scrub in for that rhinoplasty this afternoon.”

In silence they finished getting ready, re-made the bed, checked for anything that might give them away and headed down the stairs and out to the Land Rover. Suzette was quiet at first, but Blaine could tell that she was thinking about something by the way she kept sighing. He knew this was the part where he was supposed to ask what was wrong and try to make everything all better, except that he didn’t care what was wrong. Fortunately for Suzette, he did care about keeping the peace. “So, what troubles you?” He asked without even trying to sound sincere.

“She has got to go,” Suzette announced.

Blaine looked at her blankly. He had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m sorry, but who?”

Suzette turned on him so quickly he was sure she had suffered whiplash. “Martha,” she snapped. “Your wife must go. I want her out of our life.”

He cleared his throat to cover for the fact that he had no idea what to say. “Well, I don’t see how that’s possible,” he said earnestly. “After all, the holiday season has just begun. Thanksgiving is next week. She has no family. How can I shove her out on the street? And the house is half hers.” He was preparing a list of arguments. He didn’t want his neatly ordered world disrupted. A messy divorce and ensuing scandal could do just that. What would happen to his career? It took years to build up a nice lucrative plastic surgery practice. If word got around that he left his barely thirty-five year old wife for his significantly younger office manager…

“By New Year’s,” Suzette said threateningly. “I want to start our life together.” He opened his mouth, but she placed a finger on his lips. “I mean it. You tell her before I have to.”

He shut his mouth and bit his tongue. He despised ultimatums. At the same time, he would protect his livelihood at all costs. Blaine spent the rest of the drive trying to figure out damage control.



Martha sat in the waiting room of her gynecologist. She had been stopping in regularly for years. When she was in her teens, a burst cyst cost her an ovary and threatened her ability to conceive. It was no big deal not having a cycle every month. She rather liked it. And an arrangement was made that if she missed more than three cycles in a row she would stop in for a pregnancy test.

When she and Blaine first married, she would get all excited about the possibility of being pregnant a couple of times a year. But after years of giving him false hope, Martha had finally stopped mentioning her frequent trips to the doctor. And she had no reason to think that on this particular visit, her results would be any different. With Blaine’s erratic schedule, they barely had time for discourse any more, forget about intercourse.

“Come on back, Martha,” the nurse said with a warm smile. She ushered her into an exam room.

“Oh, I just came in for some lab work,” Martha protested.

“I know. The doctor wants to discuss the results with you,” she said with a wink.

Martha felt a stirring. Something was up. Minutes later she found herself wearing the ridiculous paper gown, lying on a paper covered table, with her feet in stirrups. The light shining on her crotch bothered her, but the speculum made her downright uncomfortable.

“We’ll just run a few tests,” her doctor said. “Standard operating procedure when it comes to pregnancy.”

She glowed. After years of false hope, she was finally pregnant. Martha wanted to rush out of the office right away, rush to Blaine’s office one floor away, and burst through the door shouting the good news. But something prevented her from doing that. The doctor had said it was early in the pregnancy. She could just resist until she made it through the first trimester. Just three weeks and then she would tell him.

Smiling, Martha found herself humming all the way home. She had so much planning to do, so much to look forward to in the new year. Her life would never be the same.



The next week passed in a blur. Martha had so much to accomplish. She had two Thanksgiving feasts to prepare. It had been the tradition ever since Blaine had opened his own practice that she would serve his staff an early feast the Tuesday before Thanksgiving to show his appreciation for them. Martha didn’t mind. She loved cooking for people, loved entertaining, and loved making those around her happy.

So, Martha spent each day doing something to ready herself for the big events. She didn’t believe in store bought anything. Her pies were from scratch, as was her stuffing, her applesauce, her breads, even the cranberry sauce and green bean casserole. And everyone who had sampled her food agreed that she was the best cook.

By ten Tuesday morning she was hauling food out to the Aztek. She loaded a spare table, a few extra folding chairs. The next trip from the house had her packing coffee urns and bottled water. At last every staple seemed to have found its space in the back of her vehicle and she drove the brief distance to her husband’s office.

The unloading was a far more arduous task, and impatience bested her. She grew tired of waiting on the elevator and decided to haul the final load up three flights of stairs. By the time she reached the landing, she felt a straining in her back. Martha knew if she could just make it to the office she could lie down on the couch in his inner sanctum. As she pulled the table through the door, beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and over her lip. She brushed them away and tried to smile at the head nurse as she struggled through the door. Then, she collapsed.



Somewhere in the distance people were crying out in shock and dismay. Martha struggled to join them, but she felt as though she were under water and couldn’t quite break the surface. When she finally awoke, she was in the hospital. She felt the color vanish from her face. “My baby,” she whispered hoarsely.

Only a nurse checking her chart was there to hear. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said quietly, rubbing Martha’s arm.

“My husband?” Martha asked. She could feel her eyes welling up with tears.

The nurse shifted uncomfortably on her feet for moment. Martha could tell she was unsure of how to answer that question. “I’m sure he’ll be here later, honey.” More arm rubbing, then she slowly backed away from the bed and bolted from the room.

Curling up into fetal position, Martha let warm salty tears rush down her face and pool on her pillow. She had never felt so alone in all her life. And suddenly she was struggling with this uncontrollable urge to run away. She wanted to run away and never look back. Blaine could have his practice anywhere. She shivered and wondered if she’d ever be warm again.

“So, she won’t be home tonight?” Suzette asked as she rubbed Martha’s lotion all over her body before crawling into bed next to Blaine. She grabbed the book on the nightstand just to see what her competition was reading. It was just some Italian book by Frances Mayes. Boring.

Taking off his glasses and setting his medical journal aside, Blaine assured her. “No, she has to stay for a few days. They were trying to decide whether or not to do a complete hysterectomy.” He studied Suzette’s reaction. She didn’t even blink. “They were waiting to see if they could get the bleeding under control. I told them I didn’t care.”

Suzette snorted. “The old ‘do anything to save my wife’?” She smirked.

“No,” he said seriously. “I told them I didn’t care if she could have kids or not.” He stuck his journal on the nightstand, folded his glasses and propped them on top.

“Wow,” Suzette said mildly surprised. “You’re even more of a cold hearted bastard than I gave you credit for.” She reached to turn out the lamp on Martha’s nightstand. “Huh.”



Martha spent Thanksgiving in the hospital. She was the talk of the floor. At the nurses’ station the whisperings had begun the moment they had realized who she was. “Yeah, and that husband of hers hasn’t even been to visit.” “I hear he’s shacked up with his office manager.” “I can’t believe he hasn’t sent her a single flower. Doesn’t he even care about keeping up pretenses?” So, she had many visitors. Some came purely out of curiosity, others came out of sympathy, still more felt a sense of duty, but whatever drew them in, it was for Martha they not only stayed but returned. The turnout was so great that her doctor feared she might not be getting enough rest and restricted her visitors.

“I see you’ve worked your magic again,” he said with a gentle smile as he took her blood pressure and pulled up a chair.

Martha looked puzzled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Dr. Danvers chuckled. “You wouldn’t. Look around. Aside from the glaringly obvious absence of your husband, you have been inundated with visitors.”

“Well,” she began quietly. “Isn’t it the nurses’ job to check on me?”

He smiled widely. “Sure they come to check on you, but then they get to know you.” He could see the sadness in her eyes. “And for a few brief moments, you forget who you are and why you’re here and they get this glimpse of who you are meant to be.” Her eyes were watering again. “You are special, Martha. Never forget that.” He patted her arm then exited the room.

Another pat, she thought to herself. I’m going to leave here with dents. She swallowed the mild sedative he had offered her and drifted off into a restful, dreamless sleep. When she awoke the next morning, her head seemed clear for the first time in a long time. She was calm, purposeful. She knew what she had to do.

When Dr. Danvers arrived a few hours later to check on her, she surprised him. “I’m ready to go,” she announced.

He set her chart down on the table abruptly and gave her a long hard look. He had known her ever since she outgrew her pediatrician. He had watched her turn into the amazing woman she had become. He was as protective of her as any father would be. He sighed as he contemplated his response. “I don’t think that’s wise, Martha,” he said solemnly.

“You told me that I need more rest,” she began quietly. “God knows I’m not getting the rest I need here.” As if to demonstrate, a nurse popped in to check her vitals, made a few notes on her chart, and promised to come back once the doctor was through so that they could catch up. She gestured as the door closed. “See.”

Sighing, Dr. Danvers pulled up a chair. “I’m very concerned about letting you leave now,” he said sadly. She started to respond but he cut her off before she could even formulate a thought. “Please, hear me out.” He laced his hands and held them in front of his face a moment as he pondered how he could delicately word what concerned him. “I’m afraid you won’t get the attention you need at home.”

This time she spoke despite knowing he wasn’t finished. “I can take care of myself. I’m doing it here. My vitals are normal; I’m up and out of bed, I…” She took a breath. “I don’t know why you think I need help.”

“Martha,” Dr. Danvers continued gently, “I know you can take care of yourself. You misunderstand.” He looked at her then leaned back in the chair to finish. “Losing a child is emotional. You haven’t come close to working through that. You have been overwhelmed with visitors, but not the one visitor you need to heal from this experience.” He paused and studied her reaction, unsure of how far to push her. “Where is Blaine?”

Martha inhaled deeply, a wavering breath. “He works a lot.” She felt like she spent her life making excuses for him, excuses why he couldn’t attend couples dinners with her friends (he was too tired after working late), why he couldn’t join her at church (Sunday was the only day he could sleep in), why they rarely went out together (he needed some alone time.) None of that mattered now. Now she just wanted to be away from people, away from their prying eyes and incessant chatter. She wanted a break from having to constantly consider other people’s feelings and wanted to just be alone. At least being home, she knew she was guaranteed that.

Squaring her shoulders, Martha stared at Dr. Danvers for a moment. “Please just let me go. There’s nothing more you can do for me here.” She meant for the words to come out strong and sure, but instead they were whispered and pain laden. She winced to hear them.

Head hung, Dr. Danvers thought for a moment. This was so unlike the woman he knew. Her spirit had been broken from the loss of her child and he suspected that soon she would lose her husband as well. He had heard the rumors circulating and not being one to immerse himself in gossip, had kept the tales to himself. Maybe she did need to get out of the hospital before she heard more than she should. Sighing, he met her questioning eyes once more.

“Fine, Martha,” he said slowly. “I’ll take care of the paperwork.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “You’ll be home by lunch.”

Before she contemplated her next move, Martha was out of bed with her arms wrapped around Dr. Danvers neck. “Thank you,” she murmured while a fresh stream of tears streaked down her face. “You’ll never know how much this means.”



True to his word, Martha found herself pulling up the driveway just before eleven thirty that morning. She sat in the Aztek a moment and contemplated the house that she had worked so hard to make a home. It was a gorgeous colonial that she and Blaine had remodeled. She smirked. In truth, she had found it, worked through the financing, and then planned and completed most of the remodeling herself. It was an old home, but all the major systems had been updated, meaning she could focus on what she really loved: the decorating.

The Hardie fiber cement siding was a glorious scarlet color that she had selected. All the window boxes had been decorated for the holiday season with evergreen and holly. A large kissing ball hung down over the front door. She smiled sadly as she remembered how eagerly she had decorated, thinking this would be the last child-free holiday they had for some time. Martha had thought at the time that next year she might be too busy with a new baby to do all of the things that she usually did, so she was going all out this year.

Now, the house, felt empty. She hauled the overnight bag Blaine had dropped off on his only real visit to the hospital back into the house and studied the rooms to survey the damage. Blaine was known to leave a wake of destruction wherever he went. She wasn’t disappointed. She could see clothes and coffee mugs, socks and half eaten sandwiches, all manner of clutter scattered about. Silently, she turned to the task at hand and began cleaning up. Mindless tasks were good sometimes. And cleaning was not something she ever had to think about.

Before she knew it the house was spotless. She didn’t even think about the fact that she hadn’t eaten. She didn’t even consider that Blaine hadn’t taken a moment to call. Martha didn’t even notice when it was nearly dawn and her husband of almost seven years had failed to come home altogether.

Shortly before ten, Martha crawled from the bed. Blaine’s side was empty, which was no surprise, and made, which was. She contemplated whether or not he had even slept in the bed, but soon discovered that she didn’t really care. She ran her hands up and down her arms a few times to encourage blood circulation and warm her. She blew on her hands and stomped her feet. It was only forty degrees outside, but as a native, that shouldn’t have bothered her one bit.

Gathering a few necessities, slippers and a bathrobe to throw over her flannel jammies, Martha headed downstairs to the keeping room. As expertly as she managed every other aspect of her life, she started a fire in the hearth which was soon roaring and crackling. By then, she had gathered her wits about her, grabbed a hot tea and her lap top and was preparing to check and see what she had missed in the world over the past week.

Somehow, she couldn’t get warm enough. Her nail beds were nearly blue. Her fingers felt clumsy, and her teeth were nearly chattering. She knew what her mother would have said, had she still been alive. In her head she heard, ‘give me a break. You should be used to this weather.’ But somehow, Martha knew it was more than the weather making her cold. She couldn’t seem to muster a smile; she couldn’t manage a giggle, even at herself, which she did so often. She had lost interest in her books and hobbies. Even checking her emails and responding to heartfelt messages from her few close friends didn’t cheer her.

“Maybe you just need a change of scenery for a while.” One such friend had suggested in an email. “Take a trip with Blaine. Or, if he won’t leave his practice for a few days, get a girlfriend to go with you. Pick someplace nice and warm. Finally get a stamp in that passport.”

Her first thought had been to pooh-pooh the idea. It was the holiday season. As a doctor’s wife, she had plenty of obligations to keep her busy. And then there were the charities she was usually so actively involved in. She worked with the Salvation Army to fill stockings for needy children. She visited the sick children in the hospital and read them stories, brought them gifts to elevate their spirits during the holidays. Oh, and the Ronald MacDonald House would be expecting her to come by and offer some free child care services again for the parents who needed to visit their other sick children. She sighed. She didn’t have time to wallow.



As the weeks dragged on, however, it became clear that no amount of volunteer work was going to keep her mind occupied enough to forget what she had lost. She ached for the child she would never have. She ached for the loss she should have been sharing with her absentee husband. She ached because she didn’t know if she would ever be able to have a child of her own. Martha collapsed in a sobbing heap on the braided rug in front of the fireplace in the living room. It was there Blaine found her hours later when he happened to come home to get a change of clothes.

“Are you all right?” He asked, not even stooping to touch her. Instead he was staring at her dispassionately from nearly three feet away.

Nodding her head, Martha didn’t even turn to spare him a glance. She was curled in a fetal position facing the fire, contemplating her future. Her eyes were glassy from crying. Her body continued to shudder occasionally from the convulsive sobs that had escaped her earlier. And from a certain angle, the tear stains on her face were obvious in the firelight.

“You need to pull it together,” Blaine said without even a hint of compassion.

It was then that she turned toward him for the first time. His once docile wife was now angry and behaving like a wounded animal. “And just how do you suggest I do that, dear?” She nearly snarled. “I mean, thanks to all your love and support and constant presence, I’m healing perfectly.” She slowly moved to stand, and noted with some satisfaction that it made him back up a step or two.

“I was merely going to suggest that you find something to occupy yourself with. A new hobby, perhaps, might keep you from wallowing.” He stared down his nose at her.

His displeasure was obvious. The distance between them was greater than the literal four feet that separated them.

Letting her shoulders drop, Martha said quietly, “I think I need a change of scenery.”

Latching onto that like a dog would a bone, Blaine said, “So, what do you propose?”

She sighed. “At first I thought it might be nice to take a little trip.” She watched as his eyes glazed over at the mention of leaving his practice unattended. “Now, however, I’m thinking we might want to do something more permanent.” She watched as one of his eyebrows quirked. At least that meant he was giving her a chance to speak, to share her idea.

Clearing her throat, she sat on the stone hearth and gazed up at him. She was like a submissive little bitch, and she knew he would like that. “What if we moved south?” She spoke slowly, watching him bristle some at the suggestion. “People are big into beauty in some of the larger southern cities.” She picked up momentum gradually. “Charlotte, for example, is a great place for a successful plastic surgeon to build his practice.”

He cocked his head to the side as though considering it. “You hate cities,” he spat.

Nodding, she acknowledged the truth of his statement. “But,” she reminded him, “We wouldn’t have to live in the city, just like we don’t live in Burlington here.” She paused. “I’m sure I could find a great small town with a reasonable commute for us.” She waited, and felt spark a glimmer of the hope she hadn’t felt in a long time. She knew that the secret to building a roaring fire was not to smother it too soon. She knew that she couldn’t pile on too much heavy stuff, she had to give him a moment to blow on the tiny flame, slowly feed it and give it the time to grow gradually.

“When would you want to move?” He asked slowly. His mind was reeling with the possibilities and ramifications of her statements.

Martha swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “I’d like to be moved by the new year.” She waited, hands clenched in her lap. She didn’t want to seem too eager or too desperate. The fire behind her was heating the back of her navy blue Henley nicely. The rivets in her jeans were hot to the touch, but still she continued to shiver.

“Find a place,” Blaine responded solemnly. “Find a place and we’ll make it happen.” And with that, he turned on his heels and headed back out the front door to his SUV.

With that one simple statement, she could feel the flame grow a little larger, licking into the dark empty corners of her body, corners that should have been filled in the coming months with new life. She sighed and wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging tightly. She could use a real hug. How long since Blaine had shown her any affection? Head cocked to the side. The conception. Hmm.

Gathering what strength she had left, Martha sat down in the overstuffed chocolate leather couch in the keeping room and propped her feet on the coffee table. The cord to the laptop wound its way down her calf and she took comfort in the familiar pressure on her legs. She stared at the Google search page and wondered what to type in. This was no time for one of her lengthy lists. She had to strike while the iron was hot, so to speak. She needed something concrete before Blaine had an opportunity to change his mind.

What do I need? She wondered to herself. Warmth. Well, a move south should help with that. A change. Again, the move would give her that. I need to know that I won’t always feel like this. I need to know that I can have the life I’ve always dreamed of having. I need to get back to myself. Suddenly, it came to her. Then feeling a little silly, she began to type. She looked down at the simple word she had written in that search box. Hope. With a bit of trepidation tamping down the embers in her soul, she pushed the button that sent her request into the World Wide Web.

Not only did her search yield a ridiculous number of matching responses, one on the first page stood out to her. The quaint little town of New Hope, South Carolina was celebrating its bicentennial. There were pictures of the parade, the town square, the government building, and lots of the area’s older homes in the historic section. There was an advertisement for the bed and breakfast and the local café. Martha read on. It looked so…warm and welcoming. She MapQuested it. It was within a reasonable commute of south Charlotte, North Carolina. This was absolutely a possibility.



“You’ve been procrastinating for weeks,” Suzette complained again. “Do I have to take matters into my own hands?”

Pushing her off his lap, Blaine did the cursory clean up with some Kleenex and carefully zipped his fly. How the woman could talk and complain so much during sex was beyond his realm of understanding. “The situation is under control,” he said, without even trying to hide the edge of disgust from his voice. If she didn’t know such amazing little tricks with that pouty mouth of hers, he might have set her aside long ago. As it was, he was growing hard just thinking about it.

Pausing mid-lipstick application, Suzette slowly turned and batted her long dark lashes at him. “Whatever do you mean?” Her voice was laced with excitement and hints of seduction. She lazily walked over to him, beaming.

“Apparently,” he began slowly, enjoying the torture of drawing out the details, “my wife has decided we should move south.”

Nostrils flaring, she stood ramrod straight. “You’re moving,” she snarled. Her fists clenched at her side.

Blaine eyed them warily, convinced that they would fly with very little provocation. “No, Martha is moving.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to catch on.

Instantly, she threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Blaine,” she breathed into his ear. “We’re going to be so happy. Just you wait and see.” And with that, she extricated herself from his neck and flounced back out to her office.



For the first time in nearly a month, Blaine ate dinner at home. Martha had specially requested it, and so he felt as though it was the least he could do given the circumstances. With her usual efficiency and ease, she had created a wonderful southern meal, reminiscent of what he might find in…he consulted the manila folder of information beside his plate…ah, New Hope, South Carolina. There was a mound of some indistinct cooked green leafy vegetable that had pork and onion laced through it, fried chicken, a biscuit, some creamy macaroni and cheese, and a glass of an iced amber liquid. He had almost giddily grabbed it as he entered the dining room. It had been a rough day and he was secretly hoping for something, anything on the rocks. He nearly spit the super sweet chilled liquid out. “What is this?” He managed to splutter.

“Sweet tea,” Martha responded while trying desperately to hide a laugh. As serious as Blaine was, he never took kindly to being the butt of a joke whether real or imagined.

After they had settled into the meal, he glanced through the folder she had so carefully prepared. “What do you think?” she asked, nearly giddy for the first time since the miscarriage. Suddenly, his approval was very important to her.

“If this is where you want to go, start making arrangements.” He pushed much of the food on his plate around with his fork in an effort to make it look at least nibbled on. If this was truly how they ate down south then he would find more work as a cardiologist than as a plastic surgeon. He grimaced then left the table, leaving the folder, the food, and Martha behind.

She barely noticed his departure. Her mind was reeling with the possibilities. She had arrangements to make. Soon it occurred to her, she didn’t know how many people to make the arrangements for. She walked to the doorway, and ran into Blaine heading her way. “I forgot to ask,” she began breathlessly.

“Just make arrangements for you,” he said crisply, knowing full well what she needed. “I am too busy to leave right now. I’ll follow you later.”

Martha smiled, almost. She had a plan. It was a good plan. She would move south and find hope and be happy. Blaine would follow soon. And maybe after some time apart they could reconnect and work on that baby she’d always wanted. In the meantime, she would be content to make a new home for them.

She skipped back to the keeping room. She had some online reservations to make. She knew precisely where she was going to stay. For once, she was going to treat herself and take their best room. She would wake up early, an old habit that died during her depression, and greet the sunrise. And she would start building the life she wanted. She exhaled slowly. It was as though she had been holding her breath. Now, her lungs were aching from it, and she could breathe normally once more.